Mr. Canada’s Visit Part 6: Back to NOLA

January 28, 2017

We spent the day in New Orleans again on January 2 before his flight that evening.

Siri, abandoning me again, guided me over the bridge and into Gretna. Trying to get it back on track, I asked the bitch to take me to the quarter. She obliged, leading me to a defunct ferry. It was annoying yet amusing. Thank God, Mr. Canada has a better sense of direction than me, he got us back to Canal street and we found a parking spot….but not before I almost killed us by trying to go down the wrong way and backing up in the middle of the median on Canal.

We ate raw oysters at the Oyster House. Strangely, I have never had raw oysters before. They were magnificent. He snuck pictures of me and we shared a couple of appetizers. He was enthralled by the sauce, lapping it up with his fingers until the plate was clean.

Then we went to choose a psychic in the square. I picked one out and we waited for his current customer to finish as a street performer began gathering a crowd in front of the church.

We each pulled out tarot cards as rain clouds began to gather and the wind picked up. The cards kept flying off the table and the three of us struggled to pin everything down with heavy objects.

The guy told us that we had to ask our ancestors for their blessing and let go of the past. He instructed us to make separate altars representing our ancestors and then to make one together. He also suggested a sexual position. He began to describe it and Mr. Canada said, “Sounds like Wednesday.” I laughed.

It was getting late so we headed toward the car but not before stopping for a Lucky Dog at the stand in the square. It was delicious. Mr. Canada took a surprisingly flattering picture of me eating a giant chili dog.

I drove him the airport the same way we came when I picked him up. I went with him inside until he found his terminal. It was time to say goodbye. I told him how much it meant to me that he had come all that way. I thanked him, kissed him deeply then finally said goodbye, turned around and walked away. I went to the bathroom, found my car without getting too lost and started to cry.

I missed him immediately.

When I got home, I expected to feel that sense of relief you get when a long-time visitor has left. I didn’t feel it. I just wanted him to still be there. I wanted him to be in the kitchen doing his magic. Or sitting with me on the coach, my legs over his, his hands gently stroking them back and forth.

I wanted to run my fingers through his hair and watch him close his eyes, completely relaxed. I wanted to hear his ridiculous shrill, “But why?” when we were debating some point. I wanted to walk around in his pajamas and watch him shave in the tub.

I started looking up flights to Vancouver. I needed to be with him again and April seemed too long to wait.

Two days later, my daughter arrived and my attention was turned towards her, though I talked to Mr. Canada every day.

It was at least three weeks before I could catch my breath and think.

He talks about our future and all the things we might do. He’s sure that we are meant to be together. I don’t know if I can ever be that sure about anybody ever again. But I’ve met my hopeless romantic match and if he wants to jump off a cliff, what the hell….I’ll jump too.